


Moon-Shaped Pools

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gift Fic, Kylux Valentine's Gift Exchange 2018, M/M, Oblivious Hux, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Prompt Fill, Protective Kylo Ren, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, but fully consensual in the end, despite the tags this turned out unbelievably fluffy, dubious consent given the nature of said drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Posing as a couple while on an intelligence-gathering mission to the Pleasure Planet of Chagar IX proves to be enlightening in more ways than one.[excerpt]:“I didn’t drink much,” Ren admits. “Plus, I’ve had some experiences with spices in the past: Algarine torve weed; giggledust; Muon Gold. Just enough to sharpen my mental clarity, or to enhance my mood while training.”Hux frowns. “I don’t feel any sharper. Quite the opposite, in fact.”The color on Ren’s face seems to deepen in the haze of the club’s lights. “Guilea, um, lowers your inhibitions. It amplifies the sensations of pleasure.”“Oh.” Maybe it was the guilea, or the press of a dozen sweaty and half-naked bodies around him, or even the way in which Ren’s eyes grow wide and dark, but Hux can barely control the whimper which escapes him when all his blood suddenly rushes south.





	Moon-Shaped Pools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChromiumHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromiumHeart/gifts).



> For the **prompt:**  
>  _Typical "stranded on a foreign planet" trope. Can be funny or angsty; up to the writer_
> 
> **Likes/optional details:**  
>  -I love it when both are dominant but one will finally give in  
> -Hux drinking tea is adorable  
> -The goings on in their heads is great, as well as the exploration and depth of emotion  
> -Canon-verse or alternate canon-verse is amazing  
> -Dark, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, PWP
> 
>    
> Dear [ChromiumHeart:](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromiumHeart)
> 
> When I first read your prompt, I had visions of an uninhabited jungle planet with exotic (and mind-altering) flora, a cross Hux and sweaty Ren, and _sex._ But after bouncing around ideas with a good friend, I realized that Hux could still feel stranded in even the most “civilized” of places. So here it is: your Valentine’s gift fic, with Hux and Ren stranded on a Pleasure Planet, a devious host, a still-cross Hux, and a dapper and surprisingly protective Ren.
> 
> Oh yes. I tried to incorporate as many of your likes as I could. Plus, there’s still the inclusion of some mind-altering substances. And porn. ;)
> 
>  *Title from the album **“A Moon-shaped Pool”** by Radiohead. I pretty much had _The Numbers_ on repeat while writing this fic.  
>  **Shout out to JC for their thoughtful beta and cheerleading. I can't thank you enough <3

 

* * *

His life is often made up of one monumental decision after another, yet sitting here, at a private table in the club of some ridiculously overpriced hotel with the even more ridiculous name of ‘Shangri-La’ on Chagar IX, Hux feels as if six simple words carry with them an unexpected weight.

“What would you like to drink?”

Somewhere in the background the music is thumping relentlessly, and the brightness of the flashing lights threatens to put the ones on the First Order’s fleet of Dreadnoughts to shame. The dance floor is sunken, a mass of writhing bodies filling in its circular shape, and it’s not a far stretch to envision the fighting pits which in another lifetime served as entertainment for the rich and a graveyard for the poor.

“Tea for me, please. Tarine, if you have it.”

There’s an audible snort to his left, which Hux promptly ignores. He focuses on their host instead. The man’s face is aesthetically pleasing despite the fact that his thick hair is styled in a way that reminds Hux unfortunately of a Trandoshan, and the coldness in his eyes never quite matches the wideness of his smile.

Revinu Verasc nods as he gets up to stand. “Of course. And for you, Mr. Solo?”

A waiter walks by with a fizzy, peach-colored beverage that threatens to bubble out of its frosted glass.

“I’ll have one of those.”

This time, Verasc’s smile seems genuine. “Excellent choice.” He flags down a server and places their orders, adding a Kibshae ‘48 to it for good measure. The screen on his miniature visi-phone flashes and he stands, making his apologies as he temporarily excuses himself.

“What the fuck are you doing, Ren? _Ambrostine?_ We’re supposed to be gaining sensitive information, not divulging it.”

Ren scowls. “We’re also supposed to be fitting in.” His golden eyes rake down Hux’s well-fitted yet modestly-styled suit, its simple lines and dark grey color a far cry from the jeweled tones favored by the current crowd. “Besides, I can handle my liquor. As well as my dress.”

Hux’s eyes flick unwillingly at the deep blues and golds of Ren’s velvet jacket. He has only recently become accustomed to interacting with Ren unmasked, and to see that massive body poured into something that not only does not scream _‘Temperamental Jedi-Slayer’_ or _‘I am One with the Dark Side’_ but is also marginally, possibly passably, attractive is making him feel all out of sorts.

“There’s nothing wrong with being classy,” Hux says crossly.

“You look like you’re dressed for a First Order funeral.”

“Why bother with funerals when airlocks work equally as well?”

“Why bother with anything if you’re not going to make an effort?” Ren retorts, not missing a beat.

Hux feels the flush on his face rising at Ren’s smirk. He’s survived the nearly uninhabitable conditions of Burnin Konn, the tropical jungles of Scarif, and the snowy wastes of Lanthrym. He’s commanded and been responsible for tens of thousands of officers and troopers at a single time, yet it is the Pleasure Planet of Chagar IX, with its unapologetic and ostentatious decadence, that makes him feel the most out of place.

“Best face forward, General,” Ren drawls. “Your displeasure is showing. You were the one who insisted on accompanying me here, after all.”

Hux inhales. “It was a matter of necessity, Supreme Leader,” he bites out, trying his best to avoid the pinched expression which he wears much too often nowadays. The words stick, as does the title, sour on his tongue. He clears his throat, and tries again. “The information is extremely time-sensitive. According to the slicer, Verasc has a reputation for playing both sides against the middle—not for money’s sake, but for his personal amusement.” Indeed, there was something to be said when even a turncoat like DJ had to preface the information about his contacts with an ominous warning.

The words of caution promptly go over Kylo’s head. “You forget that I have telepathic abilities,” he says with a dismissive wave.

“Really? Then tell me what the fuck I’m thinking,” Hux snaps.

The look Ren gives him is quizzical. Hux waits—for that uncomfortable pressure, that foreign intrusion, for some sign that Ren is rooting around his head, but it isn’t forthcoming.

_“Hmmph,”_ is all that Ren says, although his lips turn up slightly at the corners. “Well, at least you could make a show of liking me. We’re supposed to be here as lovers, after all.”

That comment earns him an eye roll, one so large that Ren would have no need of any Force capabilities to interpret Hux’s sentiment correctly. Hux waits for the other shoe to drop, but thankfully, he’s left hanging.

Looking back at it objectively, it _had_ been Hux’s suggestion that they embark on this journey together. Ren’s still emotional and unpredictable; Hux is certain that the events of the last month have added some scars to the Supreme Leader’s collection. There aren’t many people who could list patricide, avunculicide, dominicide, and contemplations of matricide to their list of accomplishments without having it affect their psychological well-being. And then there is the issue of Ren’s face…

Despite his storied lineage and the fact that he had ascended to the self-assumed title of Supreme Leader before the age of thirty, Ren looks uncompromisingly young. His jaw is soft, his lips plush and prone to trembling, and his eyes can turn from incensed to wounded with just a blink of his long lashes. That, combined with his propensity towards fits of tantrum, has made it difficult to instill a sense of loyalty and respect in the troops, especially given the sudden shift in Ren’s responsibilities.

Hux understands the need to project confidence and an even temperament, no matter how small or life-threatening the situation. It’s a talent that is even more important when in the lair of a potential enemy.

“There’s a good chance that the news of Snoke’s demise has yet to reach the Outer Rim,” Hux sniffs, “but if it did, it would appear more favorable to have me at your side as a… companion, rather than anything that brings into question your decision-making capabilities as the First Order’s new leader. There’s no point in creating an opportunity for more dissension in the ranks.”

Ren’s eyes narrow. “So there is? Dissension in the ranks?” At Hux’s silence, Ren’s mouth thins, his voice lowering so it can just be heard over the incessant bass and tinkling laughter. “I’m not stupid, Hux. I’m aware of what you and your men think. But you should also know I’m much more capable than that. In fact, I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

Hux opens his mouth with a ready protest, prepared to soothe Ren’s ruffled feathers, but is interrupted by Verasc’s return. Both he and Ren quickly school their expressions into something vaguely friendly.

“Ahhh, gentlemen. Excuse me for being such an impolite host, but work never ends.” He motions for the waiter at his side to set down the drinks; Hux is thankful that he’s ordered something resembling a natural substance and color, despite Ren’s earlier comment.

“Certainly an unfortunate irony when one lives on the ‘Pleasure Planet,’” Hux says, arching his brow.

“Indeed. Although it’s probably worse when your primary purpose is relaxation. Or are you here on business, too?”

“A little bit of both,” Kylo said smoothly. “Although you must forgive my Armie; he gets a bit cross when business cuts into our playtime.”

The lower neckline of Hux’s suit is devoid of his usual high collar, and does nothing to hide the flush that begins to suffuse his neck. His embarrassment worsens when Verasc winks, and Ren actually lets out a titter.

He does reap some amount of petty satisfaction by the look of pain which crosses Ren’s face when he swiftly kicks him underneath the table.

“Behave, Ben darling,” Hux purrs as he traces a delicate finger up Ren’s thigh, “or else our ‘playtime’ will have to wait even longer.”

The muscle underneath his hand twitches. Hux draws the tips of his fingers up, then back down, fascinated by the material which encases the length of Ren’s legs. It’s buttery smooth, like the finest, tanned gorraslug leather.

“Let me make it up to you both. Here at Shangri-La, we pride ourselves in appealing to all tastes. Humans? We have them—male and female, young or old. Humanoids? We have those too, both lifeforms and droids. And if you’re truly into the esoteric, I have a menagerie out back, filled with some of the rarest creatures from across the galaxies. Anything you wish for tonight, I will get for you.”

Ren moves closer to Hux. “We appreciate and are humbled by your generosity, Verasc,” he says, “but I’m afraid I’m the type who’s never learned to share.” He slings his arm possessively along Hux’s back; Hux’s nostrils flare as he catches a heady whiff of leatherwood and Algoraspice.

Hux picks up his tea. It’s still warm, and seems to be at the perfect temperature. “We are only visiting for the next thirty-six hours.” He points to the dual moons which illuminate this section of the club through the transparisteel windows. Even with the brightness of the strobes in the interior, the moonlight is undeniably more beautiful—subtly powerful, and strangely hypnotic. “By the time the moons’ lights have gone dim, we will have returned to our ship.”

Verasc lets out a low chuckle. “It’s a good thing we have five of them, then. Five moons,” he clarifies at Hux’s look of puzzlement. “It’s the reason why here, on Chagar IX, we like to play at all hours. Even at night it is never truly dark, for when one moon goes down, another one comes out to take its place.” He lifts his glass in a toast; Kylo and Hux follow suit. Verasc takes a long, slow sip, the high tannin content of the beverage turning his lips a deep berry red.

Hux keeps his expression neutral as he drinks from his cup. The tea, his favorite, tastes dull and slightly flat. It was likely prepared incorrectly, perhaps with water which was brought to a too-high temperature or a too-rapid boil. He takes a longer sip, letting the taste swirl over the edges of his tongue. It’s not terrible, but it definitely lacks the distinctly earthy bitterness of a classic Tarine. Perhaps it’s an issue with the infusion time, then.

He puts the cup down, the heaviness of the iron causing the vessel to thump on the tabletop. “Not sure it’s necessary; thirty-six hours seems like plenty of time. Enough to have a fine meal and good fuck.”

Ren shoots him a strange look.

Verasc twirls the delicate stem of his wineglass between his forefingers. The red liquid swirls within the bowl, a pale ghost of its former color as it clings to the edges. “You military types,” he chides. “I don't know if you’re just wired that way or if they beat it out of you in training, but you’re always so single-minded. There’s no enjoyment in the actual process.”

“We’re not milit—” Kylo begins before he’s interrupted by Hux.

“So, do you have a lot of military types coming through?” Hux takes a look around; it’s hardly the kind of place that most servicemen can afford, and too outwardly glitzy for those who prefer their depravity cloaked in the seediness of darkened underbellies. For officers of Hux’s stature, the idea that any transaction would need to pass through vermin like Verasc, is sure to rankle.

Verasc lifts his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Here and there. Our services appeal to a certain echelon. But few are bold enough to take advantage of all that we have to offer. I find that the higher their position, the harder time they have in truly letting go.”

Ren nurses his drink. “Everyone needs to find a way to relieve their stress.” He lets the meaning of his words settle, and Hux shivers at the sensual drawl that underlies his throaty tone. “There have been rumors of a new settlement nearby, on Gelga. An uptick in human lifeforms noted within the past month. Have you any concerns that a neighboring outpost may detract from business?”

Verasc gives him a small smile, as if appeasing a young child. “The forest planet? I don’t believe we would be competing for the same clientele.”

Hux feels his ire rising that their information—his information—could be so quickly discounted.

“Could easily do so, though, perhaps even within the next five years. Excellent climate, lots of natural resources, already with a standard class starport and small shipyard in place. True, the feudal system is a bit antiquated, but with the proper backing it could easily be converted into a new center of industry. Of course, the terrain makes the possibility of rebels and guerilla fighters a concern. In fact, I’ve heard whispers that the Resistance fighters were eyeing a new base on Gelga after their old one was destroyed by the First Order—”

Hux winces as Ren gives his hand a strong and emphatic squeeze. He knows he’s running at the mouth; the words are tripping over his tongue in an effort to get out, the things which he and Ren had discussed in private now regurgitated uncontrollably, without the necessary subtlety or delicate parsing of information required in even the most basic forms of information gathering.

“Look at where we are sitting, Verasc, surrounded by all this beauty,” Ren says, punctuating his statement with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that your own planet was under the control of blood-thirsty warlords, its skies filled with the screams and scent of death in the fighting arenas just over a generation ago.” He’s surprisingly eloquent and remarkably assured. Hux squints as he takes another sip of his pallid tea and wonders if perhaps he’s misread Ren all along.

He sneaks another look at the new Supreme Leader from the corner of his eye. Ren’s incredibly powerful—even Hux could admit that—and his thick hair and even thicker body somewhat appealing. If one were into that sort of thing. Which Hux most certainly, most definitely, was not.

_Kriff,_ it’s hot; Hux’s skin is burning, the fine cotton of his shirt scratches, and he’s overwhelmed with the sudden urge to take everything _off._ Ren and Verasc’s voices have faded into the background, crescendoing and decrescendoing as the floor seems to tilt. He hasn’t been sleeping well; perhaps a trip to the Medbay for some dipills may be in order once they get back to the ship. He picks up his tea as his vision blurs, and is surprised to discover that he’s nearly finished the entire cup, with only the remains of several young tea leaves and a strange, powdery dust swirling along with the residue.

_Oh, fuck._

Hux’s eyes snap up with alarming alacrity despite his muzzy state, the panic setting into his chest. Verasc is watching him closely, his grin broadening slowly as he turns on Hux like a well-fed cat.

“Ben, darling,” Hux wheezes. He refuses to give Verasc the satisfaction of observing his razor-sharp control dissolve into a pitiful mess, so he leans in closer to Kylo and whispers at a volume which he hopes will be soft enough to avoid the Gamemaster’s perking ears while loud enough to come across as something more than incoherent babble. “That Huttoad spiked my tea.” The image of Verasc’s smooth and well-chiseled face growing bloated as well a sickly green causes Hux to break out into a fit of giggles.

Ren stills, then draws Hux nearer. His body is practically thrumming with a dangerous energy, and Hux startles when the row of glasses sitting along the bar behind them suddenly shatters.

“Is something the matter, gentlemen?” Their host maintains his polite facade, but even in Hux’s current state there’s no missing the fact that the muscle in the corner of Verasc’s right eye has started twitching.

Ren apparently notices, too. That, and the smart-targeting scatterblaster that’s conveniently holstered against Verasc’s right hip.

“Not at all. It’s just that this song… has some sentimental meaning to us both,” Ren explains as Hux tries to hold back another fit of laughter. The mechanical wails and whipping bass were about as romantic as one of those heavy-isotope songs the flyboys were so fond of playing. “Would you excuse us for this one dance?”

Verasc barely has time to nod his assent before Hux feels himself being pulled up to his feet, his body swaying into Ren’s as they push their way through the crowd and onto the dance floor.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hisses as Ren draws them close, their chests and hips nearly flush. The energy from Ren’s body is almost overwhelming; it must be the result of whatever Verasc had put in his drink that’s causing Hux’s legs to nearly buckle out from underneath him.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Ren orders. The whisper of his breath curls around Hux’s ear, causing him to shiver. “I need to find out what you’re on, and Verasc is still watching.”

Hux does so, albeit reluctantly. “Should have known you’d be the type to go for cheap thrills,” he mumbles as Ren leans in, their foreheads touching and their lips a hair’s breadth apart.

“Shhh. Hold on; let me in.”

It’s nothing like Hux expects; instead of Ren barging in and reveling in Hux’s innermost secrets, he’s oddly respectful. There’s a gentleness to the way in which the Force-user sifts through the delicate strands of Hux’s memories, replacing them quietly when he comes up empty. When he finally comes across the one he’s looking for, Hux feels Ren’s intake of breath along with a tightening hold around his waist that makes him feeling strangely protected.

“Your drink was spiked with guilea. A euphoriant.” He’s already out of Hux’s head; Hux tries not to think about why that feels like a loss. “All things considered, it could've been a lot worse. From what I gathered, the effects should be mostly out of your system within the hour.”

The pressure of Ren’s hand against the small of Hux’s back feels almost as good as his concern. Hux shuffles closer as the bodies continue to undulate around them, breathing in Ren’s musk and spice.

“We’re supposed to be dancing,” he murmurs, giving an experimental swivel of his hips. The movement appears to be working; it doesn’t seem completely out of sync with the music or his feet, even though Ren suddenly stiffens. Hux tries again, pouting a bit when Ren just stands there, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I’m sure Verasc must have put something in your drink as well. How come you’re not affected?” he asks Ren, his voice growing muffled as his head droops into the delicious curve of Ren’s neck.

“I… I didn’t drink much,” Ren admits. “Plus, I’ve had some experiences with spices in the past: Algarine torve weed; giggledust; Muon Gold. Just enough to sharpen my mental clarity, or to enhance my mood while training.”

Hux frowns. “I don’t feel any sharper. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The color on Ren’s face seems to deepen in the haze of the club’s lights. “Guilea, um, lowers your inhibitions. It amplifies the sensations of pleasure.”

“Oh.” Maybe it was the guilea, or the press of a dozen sweaty and half-naked bodies around him, or even the way in which Ren’s eyes grow wide and dark, but Hux can barely control the whimper which escapes him when all his blood suddenly rushes south.

“You… you’ve never?”

Hux shakes his head. “Not for the lack of curiosity. I just couldn’t trust myself not to be in complete control.” He’s unsure of what he feels now; he knows that the edges of his awareness are dulling, the sounds and sensations around him somehow filtered through a pleasant haze yet also so much more at the fore. He tips his head back, the graceful line of his pale throat bared towards Ren’s mouth as he stares at the ceiling, at the ever-changing designs of the multi-colored lights.

The look Ren gives him is pained. “Hang on. As soon as Revinu and his entourage find someone else to entertain them, I’m taking you back to our room.”

Hux lowers his lashes, sending Ren a heated look. “Fuck Revinu. Why wait? ”

There’s a strange, strangled sound that emerges from the back of Ren’s throat, followed by a momentary disorientation as Hux is spun around. “Look,” Ren says. His large hands are splayed over Hux’s belly, his thick fingers edging towards the outline of Hux’s hips. “Up there in the corner. The two bodyguards to the right of Verasc are carrying BlasTech 4s. The one to his left has a SoroSuub S1BR, and Verasc himself owns a scatter-blaster. There’s no way we’re getting out of here in one piece if the Gamesmaster doesn’t want us to leave.”

“Why do you think he cares?” Hux asks. He feels like he should know the reason, or at least make an attempt to analyze the cause. He’s anticipated the motivations of his opponents his entire life, and his cleverness and propensity for turning that knowledge into his advantage have allowed him to ascend through the ranks of the First Order with unusual speed. But when the heat of Ren’s breath curls deliciously around his ear, his capability for strategizing goes along with it, and dissolves into something more immediate.

“Dunno.” Ren lets out a puff of breath that tickles the hairs on the nape of Hux’s neck, and _fuck_ , even Ren’s thinking is loud, a floodlight of awareness that subsumes Hux’s vision while everything else fades like a pinprick into the distance. “I tried to touch his mind but was met with fierce resistance. Any further attempts to gain entry would become immediately recognizable on his end, and I didn’t want to chance it. Besides, I doubt that his motives are all that complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Hux asked, tilting his head back and staring. If he turned his head just a fraction more, he thinks he could capture Ren’s wet lips with his mouth.

“He calls himself the Gamesmaster. He rules in a place where self-indulgence and depravity is king, high above the masses who give in to their most basic nature and instincts as they display themselves before him on a stage called ‘The Pit.’ He sells drink and drugs and sex—anything and everything that can remove that part of us that separates us from our higher consciousness, and will give him a good show.”

Ren’s voice stirs something deep within Hux’s chest, the deep reverb of it thrumming through Hux more effectively than the synth-machine generated drumbeat that’s vibrating up through his feet. “If he wants a show, let’s give him one, shall we?”

Hux may spend the majority of his waking hours in immaculately-pressed clothes and with a ramrod posture, but he’s done enough politicizing in his life to know how effective a well-timed compliment can be. How the smallest touch, hinting at camaraderie, may warm a crowd. Or how the coyest glance can cause a man or woman to fall.

Under the strobe lights which cause the pattern of freckles on his skin to flicker like starlight, Hux begins to move. Ren’s right; he’s not properly dressed. He strips off his jacket, places it over the back of an empty chair and starts to dance. He isn’t incredibly experienced, but he knows that his legs are long, the lean lines of his torso inviting, and there’s a thrill that runs through him when he arches his back and hears Ren’s breath hitch.

He brings his arms up, moving his body sinuously against Ren like some holoporn whore against a bronzium pole. One of the other dancers sees him, his pupils wide and glazed, body sprinkled with the dust of flame gems, his dark skin glowing a beautiful reddish-orange in the night.

“Pretty,” the stranger says, his fingers reaching out to touch Hux’s hair. His smile is wide, his perfect teeth overly white against the lights as he moves in closer, and there’s no mistaking his intent as the newcomer’s hips circle, mimicking Hux’s movements. The hand which had been in Hux’s hair has made its way down to Hux’s chest, and Hux’s heart is hammering against his ribs, his nipples hard and straining against the thin fabric of his shirt...

Someone screams as two hundred and forty pounds of muscle goes flying through the air. Hux’s prospective dance partner’s head makes a sickening sound as it thuds against the polished stone floor. Hux still has the presence of mind to feel a trickle of worry—not so much for the condition of the interloper who has already begun to stir, but for the possibility that the now-hapless brute may have been here with a number of his friends.

Kylo lets out a low growl as he pulls Hux towards him. Hux grinds experimentally, relishing the feel of his back against Ren’s chest, his buttocks against his groin.

“Aren’t you worried our friend might come back for round two?” he asks archly.

Ren’s palpably vibrating behind him. “Doubt it. I may have also given him a quick memory wipe,” he adds without a trace of remorse.

“You beast,” Hux says, almost fondly. When he pushes back against Ren he lets out a gasp because _holy fuck,_ Ren really is. The thick line of his cock is nestled along the cleft of Hux’s ass, the outline of his steadily growing and impressive length making Hux’s skin prickle and turning him incredibly needy.

“You left me without a dance partner,” Hux murmurs, turning around. The dark blue velvet of Ren’s jacket looks almost black in this light, except for the occasional glint from the embroidered gold thread. Hux takes a hold of the lapels; the fabric is soft and thick in his hands, and he grows bolder still as Ren lets out a sound. He cants his hips, the heat building and licking at him from within, the sensations amplified through the haze of lust and drugs as the hard length of Ren’s prick rubs suggestively against his own. “What are you going to do about it?” he breathes.

Ren looks down at him, his pupils impossibly wide and an awestruck look affixed to his incredible face. The faintest of shivers travels through that huge body, and Hux can’t take it any longer; he snakes his hand along the front of those incredible leather pants which in Ren’s current state is leaving little to the imagination, cups the outline of Ren’s arousal and smiles predatorily as Ren lets out an audible moan.

“Want you. Karabast help me, Ren, but I want you.” Ren’s practically whimpering, his hips trying to gain friction against Hux’s hand as Hux grinds his palm against the front of those sinful trousers, his slim fingers fumbling for the laces. But when Hux leans in, angling his head so as to slot his lips over Ren’s partly-open mouth, Ren shoves him away, almost violently.

Hux stumbles, falling into a Twi’lek who shoots him a nasty look. Perhaps the initial jolt of the euphoriant is starting to wear off; all he knows is that he’s suddenly acutely aware of Ren’s rejection, and that his face is growing heated with anger and humiliation.

“What’s the matter, Supreme Leader?” he asks. His voice grates at the title and rises in pitch, even as Ren takes a quick look around. Hux always did have a bad habit of resorting to childish insults in a pinch. “Not doing it for you? Maybe you’d prefer a pair of tits and some quality, Force-bond hand holding with a needy orphan.”

“Hux,” Ren rasps, “It’s not what you think...”

“Fuck you. Don't presume to tell me what I'm thinking; I’m horny as hell, and I don’t care if it’s the result of some fucked up spice, I’m going to get my cock sucked by someone who actually has the balls to do it.” He summarily dismisses his own hypocrisy as he spins on his heel, trying to maintain the last shreds of his dignity as he weaves his way unsteadily through the mass of thrashing dancers.

“Hux, wait!” Ren moves swiftly to follow, only to find his progress halted by Verasc's firm grip.

Despite his scheming, the guilt on the Gamemaster’s face actually looks sincere. “I'm sorry for being the cause of any discord between you and your paramour.”

Kylo’s eyes narrow as he shrugs off Verasc’s hand. “So the dram of guilea in his drink was for his own benefit, then. My mistake.”

“We take our amusement where we can.”

The vibration on the ground increases which sets a nearby table rattling; it may not be solely a result of the thumping bass.

“Well, I hope it was worth it.”

“Truthfully? Not really. You and the General caused me to lose quite a large sum of money to Sha Bendix over there,” he says, gesturing to the famed bounty hunter.

The implication of Verasc’s words finally sink in. “You knew all along,” Ren says, his exhalation leaving him in a long hiss.

Verasc chuckles. “Of course I did. It’s my job to know… to keep current on all the important gossip, especially if there are whispers of any disturbances in the balance of power.” He looks down at his nails, all ten perfectly rounded and buffed, with a sudden fascination. “It’s an interesting thought—two young and ambitious men, driven by a sense of destiny, forced together first by a common goal and then out of necessity. You’ve both learned to couch your most personal desires in different ways; your General, through analytical thinking and the suppression of his emotions. And you, through meditation and, if necessary, outlets of anger and aggression. So the question I had was this: if we were to remove your adaptive behaviors—reduce the General’s inhibitions while restricting your environment, thereby forcing your attentions and frustrations on the person who was crucial to your success—what would happen? Would you both survive, or flounder?”

“Hux is a survivor. As am I.”

“Obviously. But are you survivors together?”

Ren’s brows drew closer together. “You bet that we would tear each other apart.”

Verasc shrugs. “I’m a cynic. The empathy in others, especially in humans, has been an increasing rarity, I’m afraid. Perhaps it’s a casualty of the business I’m in. But it is good to know that there are those like Bendix who still believe people capable of sympathy and admiration. Perhaps even capable of love.”

“I am not in love with the General,” Ren grits out as Verasc arches a brow.

“Maybe not. Or maybe not yet. But your interest definitely appears more than merely professional, Supreme Leader.” His blue eyes flick down towards the front of Ren’s leather pants which, despite Ren’s anger, are still tented obscenely.

“You should take care whom you choose to toy with, Revinu. After all, one day the gladiators who put their lives on the line for your amusement may turn their attentions away from the stage and up into the stands. Especially when they have nothing else left to fight for.”

Verasc nods. “Or they could be motivated by something more meaningful. Or someone.” He smiles at Kylo’s stunned expression. “I still have a heart, Ren, however small. It’s the reason why you and the General are still living despite that fact that I’ve lost nearly an entire night’s earnings, after all.” He takes out his datapad, punches in several coordinates, and shows it to Ren. “Here. The location of the new Rebel base, on the edges of the Hethna Forest in Gelga.”

Ren sucked in his breath. “Hux was right…”

Verasc keeps his eyes trained down on his screen. “He’s out by the pool, by the way. If you hurry with those long legs of yours, you’ll still be able to catch him.”

“Thanks.” Ren starts towards the door, then turns suspiciously. “Why are you helping us now?”

This time, Verasc _does_ look him in the eye. “I was young, once, and occasionally rash in my choices. And although I'm happy where I am… it does get lonely at times.”

Ren’s mouth parts in an expression of thanks, but it’s quickly aborted as Verasc turns and heads back up to the upper level where Bendix and the rest of The Pit’s security detail are congregating. Ren muscles his way impatiently through the throngs of dancers, their movements getting wilder by the moment, and breathes a sigh of relief as he exits and is greeted by the balmy night air.

His breath catches when he glimpses Hux’s copper-red hair. The light from the moons seem to dance over the strands, turning several of them into a warm and fiery gold.

“Hux…”

Hux turns. His jacket is still somewhere back in the club, and since Kylo’s last seen him, he’s loosened several buttons on his shirt, the jut of his collarbone and the pale column of his throat tantalizingly exposed.

“Go away, Ren.” His green eyes are brittle. Flat.

“You think I don’t want you?” Kylo asks, his voice hoarse. “I couldn’t think of anything _but_ you back in there.”

There’s a faint hum as the privacy shades descend in the club’s windows that face out towards the pool, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Kylo fights back a snicker. Verasc certainly has an interesting way of apologizing.

“I hate you,” Hux bites out. “I hate you, and everything about this ridiculous place.”

Kylo approaches cautiously, as if expecting Hux to bolt, but to his relief, Hux stands his ground. It’s hot, the humidity in the air apparent away from the carefully controlled climate within the club, and Kylo can feel the material of his trousers clinging. He removes his velvet jacket; the shirt underneath is damp with sweat, showing off every line of muscle, and he doesn’t miss the way in which Hux’s gaze rakes over his chest when he leans over to put the jacket away.

“I was rather hoping you’d like both,” Kylo says softly.

Hux frowns. “You’re both so _recherché.”_

“So _recher_ —what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Hux smirks, then modulates his voice to mimic a droid’s. _“Recherché._ An adjective meaning pretentious and overblown.”

The silence is thick between them, broken occasionally by the sound of the water that laps along the circular edge of the pool. The gentle waves are silver-tipped at each crest, lit only by the moonlight, with no artificial luminescence from below.

Kylo takes a step forward, his hands clenched at his sides. “Stop hiding behind your words.”

Hux’s green eyes are still bright, but the veil of euphoria has already lifted and what comes through are twin sparks of anger. “Fine, then. You want to know how I feel? I _hate_ it here, Ren. I hate that there’s two beautiful moons, yet they still have to compete for our attention against things like this pool. And for your information, Chagar IX doesn’t even have five moons. Is Verasc so desperate to maintain the illusion of his planet’s heavenly perfection that he’ll create three more, just to make it so?” He glances down, just in time to see the reflection of the larger moon in the pool’s waters—a shimmering, glowing sphere. “Oh, look. There’s another one. So now there’s six.” His laughter echoes throughout the landscape, leaving him with a slightly hysterical edge.

“Who cares whether there’s one or ten or a hundred, Hux? Does it make the true moons any less beautiful?”

Hux advances on Kylo. Each step brings him closer, until they’re standing nearly toe to toe. _“I_ care.” He pokes a finger at Ren’s well-muscled chest, seeming to gain some satisfaction in how it makes the larger man hesitate. “I hate that I can’t tell what’s fantasy or reality in this fucked up place.” He pokes again, causing Kylo to take another step back. “I hate that we had to come to this godforsaken planet _pretending_ to be in a relationship. I hate that some asshole violated my person by slipping guilea into my tea, and I hate that you were similarly affected. I hate how much I enjoyed feeling you dancing next to me, and I hate not knowing whether your attraction is real or some doped-up fabrication.”

Poke, poke, poke. Hux continues to move forward, each jabbing motion of his index finger an accusation that pushes Kylo back until they’ve somehow reached the pool’s edge. Kylo’s eyes go wide as his left leg slips out from underneath. Despite Hux’s attempt to grapple at his flailing form, Kylo's momentum pulls them down into the silvery waters.

The treeline flips towards the heaven and confusion morphs into shock as Kylo hits the glassy surface, tumbling into the watery depths with Hux’s solid weight thrust against him. The water churns, the bubbles created by their attempts to right themselves swirling all around, their sputtering gasps bringing about a cold dose of reality.

Kylo’s fairly confident that Hux can swim; he must have had at least some rudimentary experience, as part of his training. But the opportunities have been few and far between during their years with the First Order, and he doesn’t want to chance anything, especially given the guilea that’s still in Hux’s system. He curls an arm around Hux’s soaked form and holds him tight to his chest, then gives two powerful kicks to propel them through the dark waters until they break through the surface.

_“Kriff,_ Hux. You don’t do anything by halves.” Hux’s red hair hangs in front of his eyes, the change from his typically perfectly-coiffed and impeccable appearance making him look somehow young and vulnerable. Kylo takes the dark strands and gently pushes them aside. He half-expects Hux to hit him with a cross-hook—or, at the very least, a snappish retort—so he’s pleasantly surprised when Hux turns into his palm and nuzzles it instead.

“Maybe you should dunk us again,” Hux says breathlessly. “Because _s_ _tars;_  I feel more awake, but I still want you.”

Kylo’s heart thunders as he looks at Hux. He marvels at the way Hux seems to be both asking and telling, complete with that defiant jut of his chin.

“I want you too, Hux. But I want you to want _me._ Not just because you need to get off, or because you’re hopped up on some high-grade spice.”

Hux stares at Kylo. His eyes are bright and intense, but there’s a conviction in them that’s unwavering in its clarity. “Just so you know,” he says with a slight cough, “ _recherché_ also means ‘uncommon.’ ‘Rare.’ ‘Exquisite.’” He wriggles a bit, his right hand threading its way out from Kylo’s hold. There’s a moment of hesitation, filled by the sounds of the water and their heavy breathing, before Hux leans in and captures Ren’s lips with his mouth.

Hux's lips are cool, the hint of bitterness from the Tarine and guilea intermingling with the salinity of the pool water, but somehow the combination still tastes sweet. Kylo feels as if he were the one who had succumbed to the influence of the spice, because it’s as if everything’s too hot, too intense, yet still not enough. For a brief moment, his body falters as his mind goes white.

They sink slightly as his legs flounder, then he finds it within him to drive them forward, back towards the shallower waters until they’re both left standing. Hux stands before him like the most beautiful of Diathim, his white shirt translucent, clinging to his lean frame. The imprints from where Kylo’s fingers had gripped his arms are still evident in the cloth, marring the line of the sodden fabric and pulling it askance.

“Ren…” Hux tilts forward, his hands grasping onto the sides of Kylo’s hips as if to steady him against the water’s movements. His eyes are dark, inscrutable from this angle, but the pulse at the base of his exposed neck is readily visible, jumping beneath the goose-fleshed skin.

“Don't call me 'Ren,'” Kylo pleads, stopping as a glint of copper catches the corner of his eye. He looks down, his lips curling at the edges into something unhappy when he spies the small streak of flame gem dust that remains on Hux’s shirt. He takes his thumb and swipes at it, the movement turning the cloth pink before he dips his hand into the waters and wipes at it again, trying to rub it off.

Hux moans, his breaths coming out in delicious pants as his nipple hardens, pink and tight underneath his shirt. Kylo’s not sure if it’s the sound of his name on Hux’s lips, or the way his cool facade is becoming undone from just a simple touch, but he needs to see, needs to feel, needs something _more._ He reaches out, his fingers trembling as he tries to undo the remaining buttons on Hux’s shirt while the water sloshes around them, buffeting them about.

“May I? _F_ _uck,_ I mean, is this okay?”

“It won’t be if you don’t get on with it. Off,” Hux demands, his voice hoarse as he grapples for the fasteners on Kylo’s top. “Stop pussyfooting about like some incompetent rust bucket.”

Kylo grunts as he fumbles the last three buttons, eventually giving up and yanking down on the resistant material in frustration. The muscles in his forearms strain from the effort before the shirt finally yields, and the buttons—along with a ragged strip of broadcloth—give way. He drinks in the sight of Hux's wiry frame, the tiny pink buds of his tits, the faint dusting of ginger hair which trails just below the line of his waistband and into the water, and the hint of his cock outlined underneath his cashmere trousers. When Kylo is finally able to tear his eyes away, the faint blush that peeks from below Hux’s porcelain skin is visible in the moonlight.

Kylo’s cock aches painfully from the vision. He bends down and lowers his mouth onto the curve of Hux’s neck, delighting in the softness against his lips, the way that Hux shakes as he nips at the sensitive skin, the speed with which it turns a muted purple, and its taste as the tip of his tongue licks over the bruised flesh.

Hux’s slim fingers latch onto his locks and pull him off. Kylo knows how he himself looks when he’s wet, with his hair slicked back, jetty-black and highlighting all the odd angles of his face. A ferocious hunger bursts through him when Hux’s tongue slips inside his mouth. It’s pulsing and greedy, and its hungry insistence makes him feel as if he could burst.

He lets out a whine and thrusts against Hux to gain some friction for his needy cock, shuddering as he meets Hux’s equally hard erection.

“Let me see you, Kylo.” Hux lowers his hand to the front of Kylo’s pants and tugs at the laces, his typically cultured tones sounding impatient and ragged at the edges.

It takes some work; leather isn’t the easiest to undo and even more difficult when wet, and the process is further impaired by two pairs of fumbling hands, graceless in their haste. Kylo briefly contemplates using the Force—it’s not unheard of, and he’s partaken in some late night, teenage experimentation with some of the other padawans in the past, but a part of him wants this to be just about _them._ A long sigh of relief escapes once the laces finally loosen; even so, the leather sticks uncompromisingly to his hips, clinging to his thighs like a long lost lover. But they’re eventually able to ruck the material down so it sits under the swell of Kylo’s ass, his legs swaying as his cock is freed.

Hux stares, his eyes huge, his voice breathless. The feral look which crosses his face causes Kylo to grip the base of his prick and squeeze, because there’s no way he’s going to come like an inexperienced youngling, just from Hux’s appreciative stare.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Hux grates out as he unzips and lowers his trousers.

Kylo licks his lips as he gazes upon Hux for the first time; his prick is long and slim, perfectly shaped, its beautifully flushed head visible above the water and angling towards his taut belly. He shuffles over, overcome by the sensation of Hux’s cock sliding against his own, with the slick film of the water between them.

“Yes,” Hux groans as Kylo wraps his hand around both their lengths, its span nearly large enough to encircle them both. Kylo feels the familiar weight of his dick against his calloused palm, and the newness of Hux’s against his fingers. He strokes slowly as they rub against one another, bathed in the brilliant incandescence of two heavenly satellites and surrounded by the fragrance of blueblossoms and Flandorian flowers.

Kylo looks down, his chest filling with a sense of something hot and possessive as Hux’s fingers curl over his own. He’s heady from the experience, his body alight with a euphoria that’s not the result of any spice. Their foreheads touch, their hands moving in synchrony as Hux moans into his ear, liquid and languid.

Hux’s breaths start to grow shallow and quick. Kylo feels his desperation, and strokes and pulls with a movement that soon has Hux shuddering, his thighs tensing as Kylo swipes over the slit of his glans with the pad of his thumb.

_"Fuck,_ Kylo, _kriffing fuck_ _.._.” Hux lets out a delicious groan as he starts to spurt, and Kylo doesn’t know where to look—down at his hand where Hux’s come is spilling over onto the tips of both of their dicks, or at the release coating the circle of his hand, or up at Hux, with his face thrown back and lips slightly parted, with pool water on his pale lashes and the smattering of freckles that dance across his cheeks, more beautiful than flame dust, or the moons, or the stars.

Hux slumps against him, emitting sounds that seem almost thankful. His body is pliant as he skims his fingers along the space between Kylo’s ass and balls, and that’s all it takes for Kylo’s legs to nearly buckle as he starts to come. The sensations of pleasure roll through him, the shockwaves of something greater than just his release flooding over him as one of the lights to his left makes a loud popping noise and hisses before fizzling out.

Hux wraps his arms around him, steadying him as Kylo rides out the rest of his orgasm. “Think Verasc is going to be pissed about the damage?” Hux asks afterwards, his lips ghosting over Kylo’s mouth.

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Kylo gasps, followed by a soft chuckle. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”

Hux stills, his previously sated expression suddenly guarded.

“Not drunk on Ambrostine or anything like that,” Kylo corrects hastily. “Drunk on life. On _you.”_

Hux’s lips curve into a slow smile, one that’s pleased and almost tender. It’s definitely a good look, one that Kylo wouldn’t mind seeing again, many times over.

“So what’s next?” he asks, resisting the urge to nibble on Hux’s lower lip. “What’ll it be like between us, when we get back?”

Hux runs his finger along the curve of Kylo’s bicep, the droplets of water coalescing and forming several long rivulets that cascade down Kylo’s skin.

“When has our future ever been clear cut? We’ll go back to doing what we do best. Put down the Resistance, strike terror in the hearts of those who dare to challenge us.” He smiles again, and this time, it’s filled with promise.

_Us._ Perhaps it’s not something that either can think about logically, given the way in which their lives have crossed, and what they’ve grown to mean to one another. But as Kylo had told Verasc, he and Hux were survivors. And as they held each other in their arms, with the moons shining happily above them and the water lapping softly against their skin, he’s certain that they can be survivors together.

  
**~oOo~**

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Apologies re: Hux and his tea as it probably can't be construed as 'adorable' in this context. But I was determined to get it in there.
> 
> **Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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